


flowey adopts a dog

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bloodlust, Emotional Trauma, Gore, Graphic Self-Harm, Graphic Violence, Mute Frisk, Other, Rampant Spoilers, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-04 14:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14021880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There was a grisly line between the melancholy of a twisted afterlife and the feelings he once clung so closely to, Asriel had come to learn. On the faraway grave of the human he called his sibling, he swore that he was going to cross that line, that he was going tofeelat last, no matter the cost.In which everyone’s favorite little flower discovers that meaningless slaughter really isn’t the best pastime, and that tormenting the pure and innocent might be a bit fun to try instead.





	1. Prologue

He was a walking bloodbath.

 

Each timeline was more horrific than the last. They had started out innocently enough: wander the Underground, make friends with monsters, introduce your old friends to your new friends, commit suicide, repeat. It would become the norm after a while, living each day like nothing had ever happened. But even in spite of the endless sleepovers and bedtime stories, his realities were still much too boring. Friendship just wasn't good enough anymore.

 

So naturally, suicide evolved into murder.

 

If he was being honest, it was fun for a while. It's not like there were any consequences, either, other than an occasional confrontation with the monster in the blue sweater. Even then, scattered heaps of dust still followed in the boy's presence, often with childish drawings scrawled into each little pile. He particularly liked etching little flowers, but stars were a close second. Nothing ever changed in the Underground, and Asriel's morbid search for emotion wasn't any different.

 

Still, he had hope. The child, no longer mirroring his former self's physical or mental state, could finally look past his absence of a soul. It was irrelevant. His darker timelines were just so... _close_. Close to sparking a sentiment, or a moment of real passion.

 

Murder had been so, _so_ close.

 

But somehow, it was never enough. Feeling a real shade of emotion wasn't going to be that simple.

 

* * *

 

 

The child, long having resembled an unexceptionally small, golden flower, searched his bleak surroundings in search of anyone he might have missed.

 

But nobody came. _How predictable._

 

The scene was empty, save for the thin cloud of dust that swirled over and around him. He had already seen this image a thousand times before, and truthfully, he wasn't looking forward to seeing it again. This ending was beyond unsatisfactory.

 

Each of them had given the same futile struggles, the same terrorized screams, the same pleads for forgiveness just as before. Each of them had been dead within seconds.

 

Mercy was so boring, and while that much rang true, homicide was slowly becoming just as repetitive.

 

The old Asriel would've been sick with anxiety. His only comfort in this dismal world was starting to _bore_ him.

 

Watching pathetic monsters grasp at the air for life and slowly wither into specks of dust had been such a lovely pastime, but the thrill was dwindling. His cravings would never be satiated, not at this rate. Emotion was straying further still, and killing monsters time after time wasn't going to fill that gap.

 

Besides, murderers couldn't feel, not _really_. Everyone knew that.

 

Looking down at what was left of his hands, now replaced by a dainty, intertwined vine, he felt a type of sick idea erupting from his core—a fantasy, a _desire_ , never once even considered until now.

 

Slaughter wasn't getting him anywhere, now, was it? It couldn't have been the real answer, not after every life that the boy had taken so effortlessly. "Murderer" wasn't a proper title for someone who was once destined to be King of the Underground, after all. It was simply too blunt. There was no emotion behind senseless massacre, and Asriel couldn't have that.

 

Plus, the child had been killed before. It wasn't really _that_ bad, the more he'd thought about it. The monsters couldn't truly deserve that, could they?

 

No, no. Of course not.

 

Death was too kind a punishment.


	2. Reset

A muffled _click_ , and then a long nothingness. The world was void of even thought.

 

Finally, light. A bed of golden flowers, brushing against one another in harmony, surrounding him in a thousand saccharine scents just like all the times before.

 

Asriel had reset the timeline.

 

He promised himself he wasn’t going to fail this time. There was simply no point in repeating the past.

 

Turning on his stem, he gazed overhead at the grand throne of his father one last time. The gold-plated crest glistened in the soft lights of the chamber, illuminating the surrounding walls with its faint reflection. His father didn’t keep the area off-limits by any means, but Asriel knew it should’ve only been meant for the eyes of indescribable majesty. At least, that would’ve been the rules if the throne belonged to him  _like it should have._

 

Ah, well. The thought of never getting to live out his birthright didn’t bother him much, not anymore. He’d already tasted a timeline where he forced his way into dictatorship, and it wasn’t a particularly exciting one. Asriel didn’t want political power, anyway. Adult stuff was no fun at all.

 

Rather than dominion, the boy was after feeling. Bliss, anger, pain, anything, everything. It didn’t matter. He would find whatever emotion he could, and he would bleed it until it ran dry.

 

He’d bleed it.

 

_Do I bleed?_

 

Suddenly, a smile. Asriel was going find out, soon enough.

 

* * *

 

 

Fingernails grasping desperately at the dirt. A sore back, upwardly arched. A shattered knee, split open and leaking red. A face-down child, crying out in sheer frustration rather than pain.

 

A failed suicide attempt.

 

The ruffled flowerbed couldn’t protect them from the fall, but the child would surely be dead if someone didn’t think to plant it there. 

 

No, not _that_ child.

 

A rare human child, possibly old enough to be in whatever the human equivalent of the Royal Guard was.

 

Eventually, screaming turned into sobbing, and sobbing turned into voiceless whimpering. The human child continued to palm and scratch at the ground, a subconscious action that persisted for as long as the tears streamed down their face. Which, in regard to the fleeting light above, was quite long.

 

The human, whose cries had finally ceased, dropped their arms to the ground in defeat. The spot where they had landed really wasn’t so bad, apart from the rough, icy ground beneath the sunflowers. The combination of the flowers’ sugary scents and feathery kisses almost made them drowsy, in fact. Almost.

 

They fell asleep immediately.

 

With the overhead sun replaced by a moonless sky, they remained yet a shadowy figure lying in a bed of yellow guilt, breathing so peacefully in silent opposition to their troubled soul. Nothing ever changed in the Underground.


	3. Choice Words

The daylight above glossed over the human child, waking them tenderly in its warmth. Fallen autumn leaves from the surface were piled around them, having made their way into the Underground the same way the child had the day before. Morning always came so quickly.

 

The human, becoming aware of their situation once more, cried out weakly with what was left of their broken voice—not for any kind of help, but rather for a painless death. An overwhelming hopelessness had always enveloped the human in its cold embrace, influencing their actions time and time again, but only until recently had that influence become so deadly.

 

If the pain weren’t so unbearable, perhaps the human would’ve stayed there to die.

 

After a long stretch of silence, the human finally tried rising to their feet—an action that was immediately met with a raw splitting sensation in their knee and a snapped ankle. Whining almost inaudibly at the pain, the human fell quickly to the ground, clutching the red-hot gash in their leg only to twist the wound further. Another puddle of crimson lay beneath the child, making the freezing ground below seem even colder than it already was. This was agony.

 

With a racing breath, the human child curled themselves into a fetal position, trembling with every unrelenting movement. Tears would’ve been gushing down their face if they hadn’t already cried themselves to sleep the night before.

 

Maybe it was for the better, not being able to cry. At least the monster woman who stood so tall before the human wouldn’t think lowly of them.

 

“Oh, my dear child—”

 

Gasping, the human in the lavender shirt glanced impulsively at the sound. Truthfully, half of them didn’t want to know what the goat-like beast looked like, but the other half was too drunk on pain and desperation to avoid her.

 

The sheer  _sight_ , however. The sight was astounding. The child had only ever seen monsters from picture books, but they were always these grotesque, shadowy creatures.

 

 _This_ , though...

 

“Ah, you’re bruised all over.”

 

Kneeling, the horned woman gently lifted the whimpering child into her arms. Dirtied blood streamed down the child’s leg and onto the foot of the beast, but she appeared unperturbed at the sight. Instead, she was much more concerned about the child itself. The human sighed through clenched teeth, oddly relieved by her benevolence.

 

“My, how long were you here?” the woman asked, her voice as smooth as silk but chiming with worry.

 

She would receive no answer, however. She never would.

 

The human child stayed in the arms of the woman as she departed from the cold field of sunflowers, taking slow, deliberate steps. Radiating an aura of protection and solace, the human couldn’t help but to start nodding off in her presence, their firm grip on their own knee loosening. Blurry shapes of pillar-like objects and the occasional spiderweb dominated their vision, but their hearing was far too muffled to pick up on anything other than a few choice words.

 

“My name is Toriel.”


	4. Heavy Sleeper

A snug bed. Stuffed animals piled neatly, a few buttons missing from each. A childish drawing of a flower plastered on the wall.

 

Faraway screams filled the silence.

 

The human child, awoken at the noise, looked around in a daze. This wasn’t their room, and this wasn’t...

 

 _Toriel_.

 

This must’ve been her guest room, the human supposed. Although, it _did_ seem a bit too... deliberate? casual? childlike? The human couldn’t understand the odd décor choice.

 

Besides, the human child wasn’t _that_ young. They didn’t need monster plushies at their bedside to sleep, or a night light in the shape of a dog, but they supposed it was a nice change of pace compared to their room back at home. It was admittedly a cute touch, too.

 

Another distant scream rang throughout the bedroom, filling it with every kind of dread imaginable.

 

The human, now wide awake in horror, rubbed their eyes before sitting up on the minute bed. Both feet were lain flatly on the wooden floor, and the human attempted to exert their full body weight on them at once. Feeling a sharp pain in one of their legs, they fell back onto their pillow, clutching the wound once again.

 

Their leg was wrapped in gauze. How strange. The human surely couldn’t have done that consciously, but monsters weren’t supposed to be so compassionate, either.

 

Nevertheless, the human remained determinated. Poised on their one good leg and balancing their weight with the other, the human tried rising to their foot one more time. It really wasn’t so bad, aside from the rest of their aching body protesting against them. Standing on the singular leg while dragging the other behind them, the human shuffled strenuously toward the door.

 

A long hall awaited their approach, but it was too dark to know exactly what direction the cries emerged from. Someone forgot to turn the lights on, and the human figured it must’ve been the same _someone_ who bandaged their leg so neatly.

 

Following what they assumed was the source of the shrill noise, the human turned down the hall in hopes of finding Toriel, perhaps to console them or carry them back to bed or whatever real mothers are supposed to do.

 

But she wasn’t their mother, and she wasn’t going to do anything for the child that their own mother wouldn’t do. They hardly even knew Toriel aside from her name, but as ashamed as they were to admit it to themselves, they wanted to. Badly.

 

_The human palmed at the wall, finding a light switch. Polished, rustic walls were revealed in the sudden brightness, and the subtle smell of cinnamon and butterscotch permeated the air. Traveling down the hall, the human found Toriel hard at work in her kitchen, baking with haste and focus. A couple of burns were hidden down her left paw—the reason for the two screams, most likely. Baking without oven mitts can be dangerous._

 

_“I was wondering when you’d awaken,” the woman laughed, smiling warmly. “Did you know you were such a heavy sleeper?”_

 

_The child sniffled, overjoyed to find the monster woman safe. How strange._

 

_Running to Toriel, they wrapped her in the biggest, tightest hug they could manage, and she gladly held them in return. Toriel kissed the child’s forehead before going back to her work in the kitchen, checking the oven’s heat one last time._

 

Except that didn’t happen. None of it did. It was stupid to think that anyone could look at them with affection, anyway.

 

They were a worthless, disgusting child. 

 

Still stuck in the darkness of the hallway, the human continued to limp in the direction of what seemed to be an endless path of creaking wooden steps.

 

Suddenly hitting a wall head-first, the child was knocked onto their back, twisting their injured ankle further. The human would’ve cursed under their breath if their voice wasn’t already so rasping and dry. Getting on their one foot again, the child promptly headed in the opposite direction.

 

After two or three minutes of staggering aimlessly on one foot, they’d finally felt a carpet beneath them, cushioning their labored steps. Thankfully, the human no longer heard their breaths echoing eerily between the closed walls of the hallway. This was likely her front room, they presumed.

 

The human grazed the wall for a switch, following each corner until their hands eventually brushed past it. Turning the light on, they slowly took in the view of the room with gentle discernment.

 

A staircase. A bookcase. A painting. Not much else, really. It was humble. Turning on their heel and heading toward the kitchen, the human was met with an appalling sight—an image that would haunt their dreams for an eternity.

 

“Do you really hate me that much?”


	5. Kindled

Encountering a real human was something he’d only ever done once in his life, but with the child sleeping so soundly in the delicate bed in front of him with an oozing pool of red in their knee, Asriel knew that the stakes of this timeline were going to be set so much higher. He couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this, not with his mother already having found the human and taken them in.

   
  
Binding the child’s leg in the compressed surface of his vines and knotting them at the ends, he very carefully tied a gauze-like material around the wound, using his own grassy flesh as the fabric of the bandage. Gently tearing his vine from the knot, Asriel felt a slight twinge of discomfort, and it was _amazing_. Not only was he keeping his brand new friend in adequate health, but he even managed to steal a taste of what was yet to come from his current timeline.

 

Watching the child sleep atop their shoddy blankets, he couldn’t help but to notice a certain resemblance between the human child and the sibling he once loved so dearly. They could’ve been twins if Asriel hadn’t known better.

 

After turning the human’s light out and shutting their door just enough to leave a shred of light beaming through, the flower left the room in silent depart. What a kind gesture to exchange with one as vile and loathsome as the human.

 

“Good night, Chara.”

 

 

* * *

 

Toriel was baking a cinnamon spice cake when the lights went out, leaving her stranded in place. She couldn’t remember ever having trouble with outages in her house, but then again, she _did_ live here for quite a long time. Spilling her pint of cinnamon in the inky darkness, the woman grunted through sharp teeth, making sure to avoid getting the spice near her nose.

 

She failed, of course. The woman couldn’t stop sneezing. Laughing only made the situation worse, but it was difficult to take anything too seriously within such a lighthearted home.

  

Pawing at the air for something to hold onto, Toriel took steady, shuffled steps toward her living room, hoping to find the light switched off by mistake. She assumed the child could’ve done it, possibly in their sleep, considering that her house was drenched in an unusually heavy silence.

  

It’s a shame, really. Her oversight would cost her a world of dignity.

 

“My child,” Toriel barked into the darkness, “are you alright? Did you need something?”

  

No response.

 

The sound of rattling floorboards filled the air. Asriel had never felt such excitement until now, finally undiluted by the apathy that had controlled his life for so long. This was going to be fun.

  

Muttering an inaudible “oops” under his breath, Asriel tightly spun a single vine between the woman’s ankles, tying them at the center. In an attempt to step forward, the woman consequently fell head-first into the kitchen’s corner, crashing her fleecy head into the wall. She instinctively let out a small yelp, although it wasn’t as if this were her first time falling onto something. Her horns were decent protection for her head, anyway.

 

Just her usual clumsiness, she assumed.

  

Toriel lied there for a while, crouching with her back turned to the opposite wall. The moment was simply too perfect to pass up.

 

Asriel, sprouting from a crack within the floorboard, giggled in malice. Raising a separate thorn-coated tendril, the flower tucked himself further into the ground to gain leverage, making sure to maintain what vision he still had in the darkness of the room. He threw the slender vine down in one swift, whip-like motion, dragging it violently through the woman’s back. Toriel was thrown onto her knees once more, screaming in a blend of agony and shock. A bloody sludge leaked down her spine, pitch black in its color despite the room’s overwhelming darkness.

 

Asriel was thrilled—for a fleeting moment, at least. But it was still there—the  _feeling_ was still there—and it was all so new and exhilarating. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so fervent, so _awake._

  

So he lashed her again, and again. And “again” turned into dozens of _agains_ , licking the vine against his mother’s flesh for what felt like the shortest minute of his life. The sheer scope of what he was doing was enough to satisfy Asriel’s desires, but he wanted more. Toriel’s screams were dying down and her body was paralyzed in anguish and Asriel wanted _more_.

 

“Please _,_ _stop_ ,” the monster woman pleaded, her voice cracking through the pain. “ _Please,_ I can’t...”

  

Her statement ended there, replaced by sobs and vague murmurs. Asriel had never seen this side of his mother before, but he adored it. Stripping the woman’s gown from her back to analyze the damage, Asriel gently grazed his bloodied vine across her in the darkness, stopping at each abrasion to stroke the wound in consideration. Toriel’s cries raised in volume as he continued, clearly disgusted by the mere action, but Asriel was too fascinated by his work to pay her much attention.

  

“W _hy are you doing this to me?_ ”

 

Asriel paused at the remark. He couldn’t find an answer that would make much sense to the woman, so he left her with what little response he had. 

 

“This was fun. We should do it again sometime.” 

 

After winking at her through the darkness, the flower left her home the same way he had entered that day. The world had finally felt at ease, even if it were just for a moment.

 

It wasn’t much longer until the lights returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would absolutely _love_ any kind of review! please leave a comment if you feel like it!


	6. Dying Pheasant

_Do you really hate me that much?_

 

A sticky black sludge littered the kitchen, masking each wall with blots of putrid ink. Except it wasn’t ink, and monster biology was far more unique than most humans realized.

 

Blood was streaming from nearly every corner of the room. It was an unmistakable nightmare, but the human couldn’t dare to look away from the writhing monster lying in front of them. Her naked back was all but split open, freely revealing raw portions of muscle and obsidian bone. Folds of bare skin were strung from her spine, coated with the same bloody sap that had engulfed the room so amply. The woman’s weak humming was the only faint noise that could be heard within the stain-covered walls, aside from their mutual inner screaming.

 

The human retched. The pungent fluid was on their boots.

 

“Just _leave_ ,” Toriel uttered through clenched teeth, eyes filled with distress. They wanted to be shocked, but the situation could hardly call for it. “The door—the door is down the stairs. Please don’t come back.”

 

They shuddered, even in spite of every bone in their body telling them obey her request. Was she too embarrassed to ask for help? Couldn’t she die there?

 

Was this self-inflicted, or did _someone_ …?

 

The human gasped at the mere thought of themselves having done this unconsciously—but that would be impossible, wouldn’t it? They only awoke until they heard Toriel’s soul-piercing screams, and it’s not like they could be in two places at once.

 

Then again, this wouldn’t have been the first time they had committed an unspeakable crime.

 

Toriel continued to lie there like a dying pheasant, hiding its unscathed chest with the same wings it once held the child so closely in. Her hands were tightly squeezed shut underneath her arms, as if she were afraid what little dignity she had left would escape between her fingers.

 

Turning on their heel to avoid staring further at the morbid sight, the human eyed the staircase once more.

 

_Just leave._

 

It can’t be so wrong to abandon a monster in cold blood _if they asked for it_ , right? Even in spite of her kindness, and how she cared for them like no one ever had…

 

Isn’t that what humans are supposed to do?

 

_Please don’t come back._

 

It was only in their nature, after all.

 

The human—or rather, the detestable  _creature_ —fled immediately, praying voiceless apologies to whoever might have been listening.

 

* * *

 

Traversing through the narrow passage beneath the staircase, the human couldn’t help but to wonder whether they were trembling out of utter disgust or the rapidly declining temperature. They had never felt so… _cold_ , in every sense of the word.

 

Slowly and with caution, they approached the oversized exit gate that stood at the end of the corridor. The human reached out with one hand, and then both, to open the door with repressed hesitation.

 

Another dark corridor awaited them, similar to the one they had fallen into when they arrived. For a moment, they wondered if it was the same area, but there was no sunlight—or moonlight, even—beaming from above.

 

A single buttercup rested in the spot where the golden flowers would’ve been. Or, it did for a moment. As the child roamed further into the hall, it seemed as though the peculiar flower sinked into the brittle earth, leaving only a small burrow in its tracks.

 

What an anticlimactic hallucination, really. The buttercup could have greeted them at the very least.

 

The ground was practically frozen as the human advanced through the final room. The frigid air worsened the nearer they got to the last exit point, overflowing with snow and glazed with ice. It reminded them of their home during the winter.

 

They hated it.

 

Finally reaching the end of the hall, the child stepped onto the snowy terrain with their rain boots and gauze-wrapped ankle, which were luckily decent protection from the cold. It couldn’t shield the rest of their body, however, and the human was left sniffling and hugging themselves to cover whatever bare skin remained. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it was admittedly better than staying to watch Toriel bleed out helplessly.

 

They wondered if she was dying. Maybe she already _was_ dead. She couldn’t have deserved that.

 

Cringing, the human looked down at their feet as they walked. They hated themselves beyond words, yet their streak of selfishness was undeniably there. They didn’t understand it, but it only added to the long list of reasons to die a brutal, pain-ridden death.

 

The human could’ve sworn they were being followed as they thought of horrible and gruesome things, but it was likely another hallucination, they assumed. They couldn’t see anyone behind them, anyway.

 

The snow must’ve really been getting to them, because the child no longer felt cold. Instead, whatever bitter feeling was left in their body was replaced with a dreadfully heavy fatigue and a sudden urge to curl up and nap. Their walking slowly turned into the same confused shuffling from when they had awoken, and eventually they lost the battle to their own tiredness. Falling to their knees and then rolling onto their back, the human rested their fluffy head on their arm, watching the orbit of a galaxy that only existed within their mind.

 

They couldn’t remember being carried away to a warm couch, but the dog licking their face was a nice reminder.


	7. Grave Situation

The human, blinking their half-shut eyes in confusion, awoke to the warmth of a heavy blanket and a finicky dog atop their chest. They almost felt trapped between the tucked-in bed sheets and the dog's weight, but it wouldn't have taken them much effort to wriggle out of place.

 

Becoming aware of their surroundings once more, albeit very drowsily, they cautiously scoped out the contents of the room they lied in. A considerably large television stood in front of the couch they were placed on, pointed in their direction. The program appeared to be a flashy quiz show of some sort, with an eerily sentient robot hosting his contestants in the midst of a colorful crowd.

 

The human found it soothing, oddly enough. The low volume of the program kept them far from the constant and relentless silence that haunted them like a vengeful shadow.

 

The lights were dim, but thankfully the room was kept illuminated by the soft glow of the television screen. The human sighed, half in relief and half in apprehension. The atmosphere felt so calm, but they could hardly relax until they knew what they were doing here.

 

After a considerably long session of exchanging head scritches with dog kisses, the human finally felt confident enough to sit up and look around properly. To their left was a handful of stacked books and a brief flight of stairs; to their right, a vague figure that _definitely wasn't there before._

 

"Looks like she's taken a fancy to you," the figure cooed. The human would have fallen off the sofa if the dog wasn't anchoring them in place. "She normally barks at intruders, but I guess you aren't really an intruder, huh?”

 

The human's breath escaped them as they lied there, frozen in a fear-ridden haze. Making hesitant eye contact with the figure, they were met with the sight of a strange monster whose blue sweater glistened in the faint light of the television. His body resembled the skeletal husk of a human, only slightly taller than the child themselves, but something about his demeanor appeared… _somber_ , almost.

 

"Sorry, you're probably wondering why you're here," he continued. "I found you passed out in the woods back there. It was a pretty, uh, _grave_ situation."

 

The human tilted their head.

 

"Yeah, I know."

 

After turning toward a separate room and fidgeting with the contents of a countertop (on his tippy-toes, no less), the monster grabbed a paper bag of some sort, and subsequently returned to the same spot by the couch.

 

"I thought maybe you'd want this," he insisted, handing the human a bagged pastry. It looked like it might've been a cinnamon roll, but they had never seen one cooked this way. It was bunny-shaped, with little dots of honey where its eyes would have been. "You can also save it for later, I guess."

 

The child gazed up at him again with a look of both affection and bewilderment. Even in spite of the horrific situation with Toriel, the human had been treated with such kindness by the only two monsters they had met up to now. They couldn't understand why, but honestly, they had stopped caring a while back.

 

"Oh, right. The name's Sans," he said, offering his hand to the human. The skeletal monster smiled. It didn't feel natural.

 

Rather than returning the gesture, the child lied there, motionless. After a moment of crippling stillness, they squeezed the pastry bag that lied in their hands, smiling back at Sans. Now it _really_ didn't feel natural.

 

"Well, this is a little awkward." He moved his outstretched hand to the back of his neck, laughing out of apparent unease. Perhaps he had known a human before, in a different life.

 

The human chuckled alongside him. The dog rolled over on her back. The program flashed to a commercial break. The room felt… lighter, in a way.

 

"So," the skeletal monster started, sitting himself on the end of the sofa, "you got a name? Normally I'd be calling you 'kiddo' right about now, but..."

 

The child raised an eyebrow.

 

"You just don't really look like the kid I was told about. Or the one I envisioned, at least," he admitted. "I'm not even sure why the narrator keeps calling you 'child,' because you sure don't look like one."

 

Sans was ever the observant monster. The human pretended to understand it.

 

Reaching out their arm, they took hold of Sans' hand and placed his own on top of theirs. Using the index finger of their opposite hand, the human scrawled the letters of their name into the monster's palm.

 

_F – R – I – S – K_

 

He shuddered. It wasn't out of disgust.

 

"Your name is Erisk? _Erisk_. That's unique."

 

The human waved their arms in opposition, drawing an "F" into the air repeatedly.

 

"Heh, I know. I'm just messing with you, Erisk."

 

They groaned in defeat, but not without a smirk. The human—or rather, _Frisk_ —unwrapped the bagged pastry they were given, stuffing the powdered bun into their mouth. They couldn't recall the last time they had eaten, but this was more than enough for now.

 

It was sweet, fortunately. Just like the monster who had gifted it to them.

 

Sans chuckled. "I hope that means you like it. I'm not really sure what humans eat, anyway."

 

Frisk couldn't tell if he was lying. As gloomy as he seemed, his smile never seemed to fade.

 

"I should probably be checking up on my brother right about now," he mused, avoiding eye contact, "so you just get some rest, okay? Or don't. Do what you want."

 

He stepped off from the couch and proceeded up the staircase, watching the ground the entire time. As Sans opened the nearest door, the human heard a sharp cry erupting from inside the room, shortly before the monster entered and shut himself inside.

 

Frisk jumped at the sound. It was too masculine to have belonged to Toriel, but the _shrillness_. It was so familiar.

 

They told themselves it was nothing. They didn't want to pollute the air with their anxiety.

 

Lying back on the couch, the human stared at the ceiling in contemplation. Their life had been so dull up to now that they were almost _grateful_ for having fallen into the Underground, for shattering their kneecap, and for watching Toriel suffer.

 

They were almost grateful for failing to kill themselves, for failing to liberate the world from their worthlessness.

 

Grimacing, the human turned on their side to finish watching the quiz show. They couldn't fall asleep, not in this state of mind, but they couldn't concentrate on the program, either. They just sat there, existing.

 

The emptiness was nice for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this one wasn’t too angsty! i really wanted to write a happier chapter, so i thought this was the perfect opportunity to do so.
> 
> oh, and frisk is probably aged somewhere around seventeen here, so i hope that didn’t throw anyone off too much. i only mentioned it briefly before this chapter, but i never really found a good moment to explain it in more detail.
> 
> again, any kind of feedback is _absolutely_ welcome, so please don’t hesitate to leave a comment!


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